


Episode 5: 'Paths, Part 1 - Black-Eyed Man

by ysse_writes



Series: Six Against The Dealer [5]
Category: Space: Above and Beyond
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode Five.</p><p>A mission without Morgan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Episode 5: 'Paths, Part 1 - Black-Eyed Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Space" Above and Beyond" are the creations of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Fox Broadcasting and Hard Eight Productions, and have been used without permission, with no mean intent or desire for remuneration. This particular piece of fiction, including all non-canon characters portrayed, is my own creation and is intended as a homage to that series. Also, the biases and prejudices found in this story are of the characters themselves and do not necessarily reflect my own beliefs.
> 
> Also, the 12th are a great deal more technical than me, so they made the plan work, don't ask me how. :)
> 
> Rating for this particular episode is R for language.
> 
> I'd appreciate any and all comments.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 _"Black eyed man he took the blame  
For the poison in the well  
They found his shoes by the pulley  
They found his fingerprints all over the pail…  
And with a noose around his neck  
Cicadas trilling everywhere  
He says to the people gathered 'round him:  
'It ain't the water that's not right around here.'" _

_  
_

_"Black Eyed Man"  
-The Cowboy Junkies_

 

There were certain advantages, thought First Lieutenant Jordan Rain, to having a virago for a Captain. For one thing, people didn't come up to you in the hallways asking how come your squadron got to sit on your collective behinds for two whole days while the rest of the fleet didn't get the extra five minutes to chew and swallow the freeze-dried fishsticks before they were shipped off to the next battle. They didn't ambush you in the showers asking how come your squadron commander, who'd been gone for more than two months, hadn't spoken to any of you, except to throw one very surprised InVitro in the brig and announce that the rest of you were grounded until further notice. They didn't corner you in the mess hall demanding to know, in exact detail, what had transpired between that same commander and the Commodore during those two hours they had spent cloistered in the war room screaming at each other. They didn't make loud jokes about you having to go through every re-certification test invented just because your commander was in _that_ kind of mood. They didn't 'volunteer' to chaperon your other female squadmate 'for her own protection.' (wink wink) And they sure as hell didn't make very nasty remarks about how the war would be won by now if certain people hadn't messed up on Anvil.

No, if you had an intimidating Captain people left you alone. _If_ you had one. Unfortunately, theirs was off on a secret mission somewhere and open season had been declared on the 58th.

Hell, he hadn't even been _on_ Anvil. He'd been on the _Michigan_ , gearing up for Operation Roundhammer like everyone else. And like everyone else he'd figured that the timing of the peace treaty was incredible, but had been too overcome with relief to pay attention to the nagging feeling that something was very, very wrong. The first time he'd actually gotten confirmation that something _had_ gone wrong, and the first time he'd heard the 58th were involved was when someone commented _loudly_ that now that McQueen was back the brass could get around to the long-overdue court-martial. _That_ particular remark had been followed by an equally nasty: "If they'd been any squadron but the 58th they'd have been keelhauled, drawn and quartered."

He'd been too confused and shocked to even mind the mixed aphorisms.

Damn, but these guys got into a lot of trouble. He didn't understand that at all. His own personal vocation had always been to avoid trouble as much as possible, investing considerable energy in seeming innocuous and being invisible.

He wondered if Tyler knew about the events on Anvil, and the purported court-martial. Probably--Tyler was too savvy to have let anything like that slip by her. On the other hand, it seemed uncharacteristic that she wouldn't use something like that to torment West and Hawkes.

Speaking of torment…

"I am soooo bored," Cullen groaned. Dramatically, she 'pounded' her head against the screen of her computer in a 'kill me now' gesture.

"Careful," Rain admonished as he fiddled with his own console. "The last time someone mentioned being bored ---."

"Morgan was here and we weren't grounded and stuck with a bunch of stupid re-certification tests," finished Cullen. "At least she only made us do push-ups. This is torture! I mean, look at this." She gestured disgustedly toward her monitor. "Triangulation! What the fudge do I need to be re-certified in triangulation for? One minute they have us on 18-hour shifts and the next we're grounded. Just because they've got new warm bodies..."

"I'd just enjoy the lag, if I were you," he advised. "Give the new squadrons a chance to show their stuff."

Unable to solicit sympathy from him, Sarah turned to Nathan. "Weeeeeeesst," she whined. "Can't you get us out of this?"

"Count your blessings," Nathan answered shortly. "At least we're not in the brig with Cooper."

Predictably, Sarah was distracted by the change in subject. "Poor Cooper," she sighed sympathetically. "He's really hurting. I can't imagine what he's going through."

"It's his fault," Jordan interjected quietly. "He shouldn't have scared us like that. More importantly, he shouldn't have scared Morgan."

West raised an eyebrow in his direction. "You mean he shouldn't have pissed her off."

"Well," Jordan conceded, thoughtfully. "That, too."

"Anyway, McQueen threw Coop in the brig," West pointed out. "Not Tyler."

"Then Cooper frightened him, too."

Cullen looked at West pointedly. "It would help if you went to see him."

"I can't," Nathan answered, frustration leaking into his voice. "McQueen's orders, remember? No one sees him. And may I remind you that except for meals and these tests we're _all_ confined to quarters?"

Cullen gave a disgusted sniff. "Between the two of you you'll drive him crazy," she announced.

Nathan scowled at her. "What are you talking about?" he scoffed. "He's sitting pretty in the brig. He got off easy."

Cullen raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Colonel McQueen chose the cruelest punishment he could have thought of," she returned sharply. "Hawkes is claustrophobic, remember? And then the Colonel decided Hawkes couldn't see anyone. So not only is Cooper feeling closed in, he's also feeling cut off." She sighed again, this time worriedly. "The sentry told me he hasn't slept since he went in there."

"You went to see him," West accused, eyes wide and incredulous. "I can't believe this! You disobeyed orders and went to see Cooper."

"I tried," she replied, with uncharacteristic coolness. "I caught a glimpse before I was hustled away."

"McQueen said no visitors!" said West.

Sarah ignored Nathan's outburst. "He looked really bad. Don't think he even saw me." She shrugged dramatically. "Guess it doesn't matter anyway. He doesn't want to see me. He wants to see _you_."

"Sarah…" Rain's voice held a trace of caution.

"And Colonel McQueen," she continued. "You guys do remember who that is, right? Our esteemed CO? The one who hasn't spoken two words to any of us except for ordering us in here?"

"That's enough, Sarah," Rain interrupted, curtly. "It's not fair, and it's not your place."

Sarah glared at Rain who stared coldly back. "I just want to know where the famous 58th comradeship went to all of a sudden," she declared heatedly. "You know, all those stories about how the 58th stuck together, thick and thin, come what may--all that BS."

"Lieutenant…" The warning in Rain's voice was becoming more apparent.

"You and me and Tyler--I can understand them acting all high and mighty with us," Cullen persisted heatedly. "But dammit, they're supposed to be…. They're supposed to be the 58th!"

"I said that's enough!" snapped Rain, his tone brooking no argument. "Sit down and finish your work."

"I'm done!" Cullen snapped back. "I've been done these last twenty mikes!"

"Then go back to our barrack and cool off," Rain ordered coldly.

For a moment Cullen looked like she was going to argue. Then she threw a glare in West's direction and stomped off. Rain thought she showed admirable restraint in not actually sticking out her tongue.

"What the hell is her problem?" West asked.

Rain shrugged, bending over his work once again. "Ask her."

"I'm asking _you_ ," West pointed out coldly.

Jordan grew still. He took a breath before raising his head slowly. He stared at West deliberately, eyes narrowing to match the younger man's. The rest of his body didn't actually move but something shifted in his stance. It was the mental equivalent of crossing his arms over his chest in challenge.

Contrary to popular belief, he had emotions. He even had a temper--one as hot as any of theirs, probably even hotter. His just took longer to come to a boil, and he was better at hiding it. That wasn't saying much considering the rest. Cullen and Hawkes--they had no idea how to keep their emotions hidden. And Tyler--Tyler didn't give a damn to try.

"You're presuming a lot of things here, Lieutenant," he told West calmly, coolly. "One, that I actually know what's wrong with Cullen. Two, that it's my place to speak for her. And three, that I'm obligated to tell you."

"You'd tell Tyler," West challenged.

Jordan's eyes narrowed even further, but his voice was still even as he answered. "For all her 'don't give a damn' posturing, Tyler knows how to keep tabs on what's going on around her. She wouldn't have to ask anyone. And if she did she'd know how to do that, too."

"And just what it _that_ supposed to mean?" demanded West.

Jordan had reached the end of his patience. "You know where Cullen is," he pointed out coldly. "And you know she's not the type to keep secrets. So why don't you just go and ask her? Why waste your time trying to power play me?"

With that he went back to work and proceeded to studiously ignore West. A few seconds later he heard West slam out of the room.

Jordan sighed. The problem with West, he thought, was he never asked the right questions, and never in the right way.

Tyler hadn't asked it of him but he'd promised himself that he was going to stand by her decision. But times like this it was a real struggle.

He was a good soldier, possibly a great one, and he firmly believed he could have led the 58th with no problem. So, when Morgan had made her arbitrary announcement that West was honcho while she was gone, there had only been that split-second of unvoiced protest and resentment.

 **Me? Why me?**

He'd mentally winced as West had asked the question, even though the same question, in a manner of speaking, had flashed through his mind.

Morgan had her reasons, he knew that. Despite appearances, she was never one to do anything on a whim, or for mere amusement or spite. No, everything Morgan did was planned. Carefully calculated, precisely orchestrated, with some purpose in mind. She'd made West honcho for a reason. He believed that. Now if only he could keep from stuffing the guy in a locker.

When Tyler was around, he'd had to be, by default, the cool-headed person around. He did his best to remain impartial and fair but the truth was he was starting to get impatient, too. He understood West's problem, West's pain, but was still rapidly losing sympathy. These days he had to actively remind himself to see it from West's side.

Hawkes suspected that West didn't care, that he wanted to be back on earth with Kylen. Jordan knew that the exact opposite was true. If anything, Nathan cared too much.

The way Nathan saw it, it was his fault. He had made the decision to leave Vansen, Damphousse and Wang. He had chosen to secure the colonists. And unlike everyone else that had been involved in that fiasco, he had actually gained something. He got Kylen back. The woman he loved. The reason he had joined the Corps, the reason he was in this war to begin with.

And now Kylen was back on earth. Without his purpose, without his faith, West was lost.

West and Tyler, they had more in common than they knew. They carried the heavier burden. Not only loss, not only responsibility, but also guilt. And guilt was always complicated business. But whereas Morgan was driven by guilt, propelled by it to extremes, Nathan seemed paralyzed by it--unable to act, only to react, to certain situations, to certain challenges. Jordan suspected that sometimes Morgan baited West just to get a rise out of him. He understood that, too. Sometimes he himself felt like whacking West on the head on the slim chance that the younger man would wake up and prove he was still alive. He hadn't actually done that yet. All things considered, West was still honcho and their relationship hadn't progressed to the whacking-on-the-head stage yet.

He grinned wryly to himself. Maybe Sarah would do it for him. Sarah would whack _him_ for even thinking it, but--equality be damned--with her arsenal of baby blue eyes, platinum hair and dimpled smile, there were just some things she could get away with that he couldn't. And Sarah would do it, too. She was just as frustrated as he was. All she needed was an excuse. Hell, it was all any of them needed.

The forced inactivity was wearing on all their nerves, he supposed. Plus that court martial thing. Or maybe they'd all gotten sort of used to the underlying violence that had been a constant with Tyler around and were now trying to pick up the slack. She might've been hard on the nerves but one thing Tyler definitely wasn't was boring.

 

* * *

She hadn't even reached their barracks yet, and already her temper was fleeing, just as quickly as it had flared.

Which was not to say she didn't think her ire was justified.

 _Men_! She harumphed to herself for good measure, throwing an irritated glare upward.

Lieutenant Sarah Cullen had grown up knowing her place, having it constantly shoved in her face by a politically ambitious father, a mother with archaic ideals of womanhood and, later on, a domineering fiancé. No, domineering was too strong a word for Richard. Conventional, maybe. Set in his ways. Unimaginative. In any case, each of them had taught her that there were roles each person played and a hierarchy to everything. Leaders and followers, heroes and fools.

It was funny. Coming here, she thought she'd be the one playing the fool. She'd been so afraid that she wouldn't contribute enough, that she'd be the weakest link, suspecting that Morgan had taken her on because of misplaced gratitude. After all, she had had virtually no flight combat experience and though her ground skills were adequate, they were nowhere in the league of the rest of them. She'd been terrified she wasn't good enough to be a WildCard.

Who would have thought she'd end up being the sane one around? Good thing she was such a good medic. She could patch them together when they were done ripping each other to shreds.

Okay, so she was doing her share of snapping. She was entitled, dammit. She'd been smiling so much her face hurt. And it wasn't like _her_ life was all sunshine and roses.

She entered their barrack, slammed the door shut and climbed on to her rack, flinging herself upon the thin mattress.

That time in Styx, she'd almost died when Morgan looked at her with such disappointment-- contempt, even --because she couldn't pull the trigger. Later, she had understood. There were places in the Universe for people who could not, _would_ not kill, places where such a thing would be admired and applauded.

The United States Marines Corps was not one of them.

She'd been fooling herself, anyway. She'd killed before. Just because she never saw their faces didn't make them any less dead.

Anyone else, she thought, would have let her get away with it. She knew this for a fact. She'd had ample experience getting away with things. One of her strengths had always been that everyone liked her, so they tried to make things easier for her. A sunny smile, a helpless grin, and men would fall over themselves laying their coats on puddles or bringing her lemonade. Growing up as her father's daughter, she'd had no problem with that. Power was power.

She had been all of nineteen years old before she even thought to look beyond that, to see that she had strengths that had nothing to do with her beauty, her father's position, or her mother's bloodline. It took five more years before she believed in that enough to break free.

She grew up knowing her place. But she'd be damned if anyone tried to shove her back in that box.

Okay, so that wasn't what she was really upset about, either. It wasn't even that Hawkes was in the brig, or that Tyler was gone and there was a good chance she wouldn't bother to come back, or even that there seemed to be no end to the war in sight.

She turned over, hugged her pillow and sighed, admitting to herself just what her problem was.

 _Who_.

It was that man. Colonel TC McQueen.

She sighed again.

The daughter of a senator, she'd grown up surrounded by great men, potentially great men, and men striving to be great. She knew, better than most, how to tell who was which. How to separate the exceptional from the common, the commander from the flock.

Some enticed people and held them with promises--illusions of safety, wealth, contentment, delight. These promises didn't have to be spoken aloud, but they were there. Follow me and you'll be safe. Follow me and you'll be happy. Follow me and we'll win this war and you'll see your family again. Her father was such a man.

Some used their vision--dreams larger than life that swept lesser men away. Most of the time, it was the dream, not the dreamer, that led them. If the dreamer wasn't strong enough, the dream, would disintegrate and die, or would destroy them all.

Some people, like Morgan, could bind people by the sheer force of their will. Loners, forcibly shoved into a position of social responsibility, they led with violent authority--taking control as a means of survival, to keep the barriers in place.

And some, she knew, could lead simply because they had that indefinable quality, the soul, the something more that quietly commanded trust and obedience, and that pledged, if not safety, then purpose, and preached not glory, not useless sacrifice, but worth.

She had thought, had _believed_ , that Colonel TC McQueen was such a leader, such a man. She'd be embarrassed to admit just how many time she'd watched that AFN video, even before learning that she would be going to the _Saratoga_. What would her squadmates think if they knew that it had been him, not them, that had so delighted her about the prospect of joining the 58th? They all thought it was Tyler. The truth was she admired Tyler, and would gladly lay down her life for her, but it was McQueen's serene gaze, his quiet strength, that had called her here.

She'd wanted to be part of something. And she wanted something, _someone_ , to believe in.

She turned over once more and glared at the low ceiling.

What a disappointment _he'd_ turned out to be.

Ah, well, she'd been disappointed before. She'd live.

That is, if they could keep from killing one another.

 

* * *

Hawkes unconsciously tapped his foot against the floor, counting off the seconds. _I can do this_ , he thought. McQueen had said seventy-two hours. Sixty-two hours, sixteen minutes and twenty-two seconds had passed. Nine hours, forty-five minutes and thirty-eight seconds to go. **I can do this**.

He had to hand it to the Colonel. McQueen knew exactly what he was doing when he stuck him in here. He could never stand being cooped up. He hated small spaces, hated feeling trapped, caged, helpless.

He hated the silence, the tension, the feeling that everything was suspended, dead. It made him feel unreal, even more invisible than usual. It was a stupid feeling, since no one was around, but there it was.

It was hell, having all this time on his hands, with nothing but walls and the occasional glimpse of a sentry to distract him. Time to think, time to remember. Time to dwell on things that he would rather deny or ignore. Time and opportunity for thoughts-- _memories_ \--to sneak in and play games with his sanity, his peace of mind.

Shane.

Tyler.

McQueen.

Tyler.

Things he didn't want to think about. Things he'd rather forget.

No, not forget. Just… put aside while he gathered strength.

McQueen, aside from that barked order to throw him in the brig, hadn't said a word to him. That scared him. McQueen had always been a little cool, trying so damn hard to stay aloof and untouched, but he'd convinced himself of a connection beyond that of CO and soldier. A unique relationship, perhaps borne out of their mutual fortunes. Both InVitros, both alone, both suited for nothing more than warfare. He had allowed himself to believe that they were two of a kind, sharing more than blood, more than genes. They shared a history. A destiny.

He had convinced himself of the same thing about Shane. Maybe she didn't love him the way he loved her, but he was nonetheless sure they shared something special. He wasn't sure what that relationship was, exactly--the one time he had tried to test it she had slapped him full on the face. It hadn't been with meanness, he knew that, just an unequivocal declaration and re-establishment of the boundaries he had crossed. Over time that relationship had grown, developed. Still indefinable, but undeniable. He had had faith that there was a chance someday she would let him be something more.

He had no such illusions about Tyler. There was no relationship there. Those weeks, that night--it had been one endless struggle. A contest. A fight.

He should be handling it better--his whole life had been about war, about fighting. That was what he knew best--heck, it was _all_ he knew. But he didn't get the dynamics of this one. What were they fighting, what for? At the start he thought he knew. And that night he'd thought… **So, you're saying it never happened**. **It happened. It just didn't mean anything**.

Hell, he didn't know what he'd thought, or if he thought at all. Probably not. He'd said to hell with reason and allowed himself to be swept away by… By whatever it was. Besides, he hated thinking.

 _Hated_ it.

He hated worrying more, though. And being confused.

But the thing he hated most was being _in here_ when everyone else was _out there_.

About a dozen hours ago the _Saratoga_ had been under attack. The claxons had sounded, shattering the almost unbearable silence of his cell. Ross had called general quarters and the sentry had answered the call, leaving him alone, ignorant and extremely frustrated. If those bars hadn't been electrified he would have torn them off, regardless of the metal bolts that fused them to the floor. Outside his window he had seen the explosions, watched the squadrons battling the Chigs, frustration mounting with each impact, each hit that the _Saratoga_ suffered. He had spent the better part of two hours alternating between watching the window and standing by the bars, waiting for someone to come and get him so he could join the fray. With Tyler gone and him locked up the 'Cards were flying two men short. They _needed_ him.

He'd let them down once, he couldn't let them down again. He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to them while he remained locked away.

But no one had come and soon the impacts had tapered off, and the battle had moved away. He had spent another half-hour standing by the window trying to catch a glimpse of the squadrons that had come home.

Cripes, he hated this. Something had to be wrong or Nathan would have come to see him by now. The guard had returned, finally, but wouldn't answer his questions. And the one that had replaced that guard hadn't been any help either. Hawkes guessed that McQueen had given instructions that no one was to talk to him, too.

Fitting punishment, alright.

 **I can do this** , he thought again, looking back at the clock. Sixty-two hours, twenty-three minutes and forty-two seconds. Nine hours, thirty-eight minutes and eighteen seconds to go.

 **I can do this.**

 

* * *

West needed a drink. A big one. A double big one.

He didn't think it could get worse, but of course it could. And had.

McQueen had just informed him, quite calmly and matter-of-factly, to prepare for the 'impending investigation' on their 'damned mess on Anvil.'

At first he could only stare at the Colonel in shock. The truth was he'd forgotten about it, so many things had happened since then--he thought the issue had been swept away by the events following the peace treaty. Turns out the Corps hadn't forgotten. They'd just been waiting for McQueen to return so the 58th could answer the charges as a squadron, as well as individuals. Which didn't make sense to Nathan at all, considering that Wang was dead and Vansen and Damphousse were… still unaccounted for.

But McQueen had been, _was_ their CO. Rumor had it that the Colonel would be the one to face the court martial.

Which wasn't fair, since they were the ones who had screwed up.

Shit. What kind of game was the Corps playing, giving them back McQueen only to take him away again? To rush them back into active duty after the peace treaty only to yank them back out now and threaten to send them back to Earth in disgrace? After all they had done for this war, after all they had sacrificed?

No. He wouldn't let them do that, not to Wang or Vansen or Damphousse. He owed them that much. He wouldn't let them be disgraced. Neither would McQueen. He was sure of that if nothing else.

And as if that wasn't enough, Rain and Cullen were acting all strange on him, too. He should have known they'd give him problems. Tyler had said that they wouldn't but he should have known better than to take anything that woman had to say at face value. Hell, for all he knew she had pulled them aside and given them specific instructions to give him a hard time to get back at him for some imagined sin.

No, he didn't really believe that. Even absent she did a great job of that herself and didn't need any help.

It was just… It was this insane war. Every time he thought things were getting just a little better the war would turn around and bite him in the ass.

He had been looking forward to this. McQueen was back, Tyler was gone--it had seemed like a happy turn of events. With Tyler gone everything would settle down, possibly even level out to a certain degree of peace and normalcy.

And Colonel McQueen… West had honestly believed that once McQueen returned everything would be back to normal. Well, maybe not normal, but better. He'd been like a child who had placed unquestioning faith in the ability of the adult to make everything right. McQueen would fix everything, McQueen would make everything right.

Instead, the first thing McQueen had done after being released from sickbay was to throw Hawkes in the brig and then cloister himself with Ross in the war room. Obviously, his own two days in the medbay hadn't done much for McQueen because for the better part of two hours shouting had been heard outside, though the soundproofing had succeeded in at least muffling the actual words. Later, McQueen had stormed angrily out of the room, trailed by an equally angry Ross who had shouted "And don't think I won't throw you in the brig yourself if you don't start acting like a grownup!"

McQueen hadn't answered, instead walked away his face tightening into that unreadable, impenetrable mask West remembered from the early days of the war.

And now this. He wondered if that was what McQueen was so mad at them for, because of this court-martial that everyone seemed to think was going to be the main entertainment event of the year.

Himself, he couldn't even worry about that. Anvil seemed a million years ago and whatever punishment the brass would come up with, whatever rank or grade they would strip, it faded to nothing compared to what he and Hawkes had already lost.

But what was the point of making them face the charges as a team when the team no longer existed?

Nathan knew that once, McQueen's aloofness had been just a façade. Beneath that icy exterior had been a man who cared, and cared deeply. A man who led by example and who would place his life on the line for them, on a daily basis if need be. A man who'd fought for them, pushed them, gave them wings and kept them grounded. Heck, McQueen was the closest thing to a dad some of them knew. Shane's had died when she was very young, and Cooper had never had one.

He could still remember McQueen giving them hell about being too familiar, back in the old days. He'd hit them hard with that lecture and he'd been right. They'd forgotten that he was, first and foremost, their commander and that they were, above everything else, Marines. A lesson in distance, in detachment, that McQueen had tried so hard to hammer into their skulls… A lesson that had failed miserably.

But this distance was different. It was palpable, solid. Scary.

God, West thought. Why wasn't anything working out these days?

He used to be pretty good at managing his life. Practically everything he decided or got into worked out pretty well. Great family, breezed through school, won the heart of his one true love… he even got that position on the Tellus project without too much effort. All his life he'd had it good.

Then the Chigs had attacked and he'd watched the things in his life fall away, inexorably pulled into the black hole that was the war.

Kylen.

Neil.

Kelly Anne.

Paul.

Shane.

Vanessa.

 _It was as if he had a list and life was crossing them out, one by one._

Who would be next?

Come to think of it, who was left?

* * *

McQueen looked over the four Marines standing at attention, trying to stamp down the overwhelming feeling of anger and disappointment. He had been looking forward to this. He had missed them. In the VA hospital, through those endless weeks, as the doctors fussed and poked and prodded with him with various devices of torture all he could think about was getting back here. To the war. To this ship. To his kids.

Nevermind that he'd be facing a court martial once he got back. He _needed_ to be here.

He hadn't counted on how much it would hurt.

He couldn't even look straight at West and Hawkes for long. There was such blatant need, such naked hope in Hawkes' face that it was painful. And West, West looked at him with transparent faith. Relief. He could almost hear their thoughts, barely confined by their eyes.

 **Lead us**.

 **Help us**.

How could he? He couldn't help them when they really needed him. He couldn't help them on Demios, he couldn't help them after the aborted peace talks. Hell, he couldn't even help himself.

 **Save us**.

Somewhere, he had crossed the line.

During his stint with the 127th he had been so careful to keep his distance. They had made it easy. As good a pilot as he was, as good a leader, as good as a team they had made, he was still a tank. It had been easy to keep clear of that line--between professionalism and friendship, between being comrades and family.

The 58th had been -- _was_ different. He had been surprised the first time he had thought of them as 'his kids.' He had accepted the fact that he would never become a father, resigned himself to being alone. Ironically, this war had given him a gift he never thought he'd receive. Somehow, with the 58th, that's what he had become. A father.

The 58th WildCards. The name alone brought a surge of pride. He loved them. No real father could have been prouder, could have worried more when they went out on assignments. When he'd learned about Wang, about Vansen and Damphousse, he had been devastated. Every other loss--his leg, the 127th, his wife--those had been hard. But the loss of those three kids…

He could still taste the fear, the bile that had risen up his throat when he'd seen those Chigs corner Hawkes. For one split second it had seem inevitable that his first official act back would be to give a eulogy for the younger InVitro. And to whom would he have sent the notice? Himself?

Hawkes' escape had been nothing short of miraculous, he knew that. And he didn't even believe in miracles. The relief that followed--dizzying. The truth was if Tyler hadn't beaten him to that tongue-lashing he would have shaken Hawkes till his eyeballs fell out.

He had never been so scared in his life.

That had brought home, again, just how close he had allowed himself to be to those five young men and women, to the two who remained. It was a mistake. He should never have left it happen.

And now they had dropped three more kids on him. Strangers.

He looked at his new 'kids.' Sarah Cullen. Jordan Rain. Looking at him with expressions of hope and expectancy. These kids wanted something from him and he didn't know what. Or if he could give it.

His non-existent leg twinged, as if reminding him again of his loss. It still pained him, the phantom and real pains mixing up in one indefinable mass, but not as much as his other pains did.

He wondered how much he could give to the Corps before he had nothing left to give. Before here was nothing left of him at all.

At least, he thought, he was spared the sight that would have hurt most.

He looked at the end of the line--Vansen's place. Vacant. Empty.

He'd been surprised to learn that his new Captain had taken herself off to parts unknown without trying to speak to him first. Urgent and necessary business, Glen had said. A priority one mission. Though he found the suddenness and the secrecy of her leaving unsettling, Ross had assured him that everything was fine. That the mission had been on the boards for months but had only just gotten the go signal, and that the mission in no way threatened or compromised the 58th's safety or status. That was all he'd say, end of discussion.

Damn it, even Glen seemed different.

They had all changed, he was a fool not to have expected that.

On some levels he was impressed. In the weeks he'd been gone they'd improved their game. They were faster, stronger, their responses sparer, more direct. They were already superb soldiers when he had left. Now, he was willing to bet that they'd be a match for anyone. He had to applaud the Captain who had managed that.

But on other levels…

This 58th didn't work like the other one had, there was no bond, no shining circle marking them as one team, one unit. There was an obvious, though invisible, line running down the center dividing them in two. Not that they didn't work well together. There was just something missing, something that kept them from gelling.

They reminded him of… of the 127th. The Angry Angels. Perfect on paper. Perfect instincts, perfect technique, perfect record. But they weren't a family.

Right now, facing what he was supposed to do, feeling what he was feeling, he wasn't even sure that wasn't a good thing.

The other way hurt too much.

"The planet Nyx," he announced, gesturing towards the star chart on the wall of the Ready Room. "It holds Oodwae, one of our biggest storage facilities in this region. The crew of Oodwae have been on planet for the last two hundred and eighty days. Their relief was scheduled to land today, but they've been delayed. It'll take at least another three days. Since the crew of the Oodwae facility have already stayed on planet an extra thirty days, Command believes that postponing their departure _again_ would trigger unrest, possibly mutiny. These people are barely holding on, people. We can't delay their departure any longer. Your mission, Five-Eight, is to safeguard this facility till the cavalry arrives."

"Sir," West raised his hand. "I don't think the 5-8 is suited to actually manning a storage facility." 's s "Said facility will be shut tight and sealed down in preparation for the change of personnel. In fact, there's an energy shield surrounding the facility to make sure it stays secure. You people won't even need to see the inside of this facility. All you need to do is patrol the perimeter and make sure everything stays secure."

"Sentry duty," Cullen mouthed to Rain as McQueen walked past her, rolling her eyes in disgust.

McQueen nodded towards the other group of soldiers attending the briefing. "You'll be joined on this mission by a unit from the 12th Marine Force Recon, headed by 2nd Lieutenant Reese --"

"Colonel." This time it was Rain who raised his hand. "We heard that there's going to be some activity in the Chamdar region. Wouldn't the 58th be of better use there?"

Nathan almost winced at Jordan's question. He'd asked practically the same question once, when they were being sent down to Icarus and had received one of McQueen's signature icy glares.

McQueen was giving Rain that same glare now. "The Corps will decide where you'll be useful," he retorted. "You have your assignment. You leave in two hours."

"Sir…" Cooper's voice was tentative.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" McQueen asked impatiently.

"Will you be joining us on this one, Sir?"

McQueen's expression didn't change. "Do you perhaps need a tour guide on this mission, Lieutenant? Your hand held, maybe?"

"No, Sir, I just thought…"

"Ordinarily, the Corps likes that in a soldier," interjected McQueen. "As long as it's not overdone. Two hours, Lieutenants. Be ready."

 

* * *

"I can't believe Colonel McQueen is making us do sentry duty," complained Cullen after their Izzy had taken off.

"We're all in this together," West pronounced. "Any assignment is just as important as another in the war effort."

"What a crock," muttered Cullen under her breath.

"Excuse me?"

"It just seems to me," she began disdainfully, "that the new squadrons are getting all the fun while we're either stuck in our quarters or doing grunge work."

Nathan's eyes narrowed. "You used to _like_ grunge work," he said curtly. "You were excited when they sent us off to Styx on that damn scavenger hunt. All of a sudden you're too good for ground work?"

"Cullen doesn't do 'still and quiet' very well," interceded Rain. "That's all. She doesn't mind the work, she just doesn't like the idea of standing around keeping quiet. And speaking of quiet, I recommend you both keep your voices down. The 12th can hear you."

Nathan looked over to the 12th Force unit's part of the APC, who apparently were having problems of their own.

"Man, can you believe who they stuck us with?" a soldier asked in an exaggerated whisper.

"Hush up, Hops, Any louder and I'll have you on restrictions."

"But Sir," Private Hops protested. "A nipple-neck?"

"It's not the tank I'm worried about," muttered another soldier. "Sir, I'm from North Carolina and I'm telling you, you can't trust Indians."

"And what about the little princess herself?" Corporal Kerrigan growled and jerked her thumb in Cullen's direction "Her nose up in the air, acting like she's not supposed to get her pretty party dress dirty."

"And what's your complaint about Lieutenant West?" asked 2nd Lieutenant Reese dryly. "Come on, might as well get the list over with."

"Too whitebread," Sergeant Saliers muttered sotto voce, brown eyes twinkling.

"That's it?" Reese asked, raising one eyebrow mockingly. "Couldn't come up with anything more imaginative?"

"Come on, Lieutenant, admit it," wheedled another corporal. "You're just as pissed off as we are about being stuck with a bunch of pilots. These guys wouldn't last two days in the bush and you know it. That lieutenant can't even control his own team, for Christ's sake!"

"I know I'm too smart to insult a superior officer when he's within earshot," responded Reese pointedly. "And I thought you people were, too. Remember, there's more than one way to commit suicide in this war. _This_ ," he said, gesturing around the APC's cabin, "is nothing. It's four days. We're 12th Force Recon. We can handle _anything_ for four days. Even pilots."

"Leave them alone, Nathan," Rain halted West as he stood up and started towards the 12th. "They're just kids."

"Insubordinate FNKs who need to watch their mouths," growled Nathan.

"Why? Because they haven't heard of the great 58th squadron and are therefore not in awe of you?"

"They're insulting you, too."

"They just don't want to be here, same as us." He nodded towards the group, who were already starting to settle down. "They're just sounding off."

West glared at Rain, really annoyed at the lecturing tone. "You always have to be the voice of reason, don't you?" he almost sneered.

"Yes," Rain answered. "And I'm getting really tired of it."

 

* * *

"What's our latest ETA?"

Hawkes fought to hide a grin. That was the third time Cullen had asked that question in the last half an hour.

"You'll never survive actual combat if you're this twitchy," he commented quietly.

"'Twitchy'?" Despite herself Cullen's mouth turned up at the corners in amusement.

"Yeah, twitchy," Hawkes grinned back. "Rain's right. You've got to learn how to sit still and be quiet."

"Hey, I've had survival training," she protested. "I can hide in the bush as well as the next person."

"Basic training, maybe," he conceded. "But no specialized training."

"You don't know that," she sulked.

"I can tell," he answered dryly. "What if you were out of ammo, hiding behind some rocks, or in some bushes, with about a dozen Chigs headed your way? What would you do?"

"Jump them?" she guessed brightly.

"A dozen armed Chigs? Get serious."

"Run away?"

"You'd get maybe two steps. Not to mention a court-martial. Sometimes you just have to hide and wait things out."

"You?" There was more than a little skepticism in Cullen's voice. "Hiding and waiting?"

Hawkes shrugged. "Sometimes that's the only option you got. Once, I was on this planet alone…"

"Alone?"

"It was a Black Ops mission. Classified. Anyway, my… partner… had been killed, and I was all alone on a planet full of Chigs while I waited for extraction." What Hawkes remembered of the Tigris mission was sketchy, at best. He'd been wounded, exhausted, and suffering from exposure. Sometimes he wondered if he hadn't imagined everything. To his mind the experience had been strangely horrific, and yet fraught with meaning. "At one time, I was hiding in some bushes and I saw this bird in the sky--it was beautiful. I guess I got distracted 'cause the next thing I knew there were Chigs around me. One of them even got close enough to touch."

He remembered now that the same Chig had been looking at the same bird he had been, also distracted. Back then, that had been a strangely captivating moment, making him feel like him and the Chig weren't quite so different after all. There had been another moment, actual contact that had touched and surprised him, gave him hope. But that moment had been a trick, a lie like everything else. Like Anvil. Like the peace treaty.

"What happened?" prompted Cullen, jolting Hawkes out of the memory.

Cooper shrugged. "I just froze, literally. Didn't move, didn't breathe, but my heart was pounding so hard it was a miracle the Chig didn't hear it. Anyway, the point is sometimes all you can do is sit and wait."

"Wait for what?" she asked.

"For an opening. For a better chance. For something to change."

"What if things don't change?" she asked. "How long are you supposed to wait?"

He hadn't thought of that. Or rather, the question, the posing of it, took him by surprise.

 **How long are you supposed to wait**?

"Good question," he answered, thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Things always change, Sarah. Whether or not you want them to."

 

* * *

As soon as the last APC carrying the last of the facility's crew was out of sight the 12th launched into action.

"Sir, permission to sweep and secure the area. Since the facility has a cleared radius of less than a klick a 10-K perimeter sweep should be enough. We'll be forming four teams, led by myself, Sergeant Krieger, Corporals Kerrigan and Macy--we've got two hours before dark--that should give us plenty of time." He nodded towards four marines who had separated themselves from the main group. "Corporal Lancing, Privates Liu, Hops and Jameson will stay here and set up the command center, after which they'll set up patrol around the area. We'll be keeping radio discipline but checking in every 30 mikes."

Lieutenant Reese's tone was polite but perfunctory, obviously following protocol for the sake of following protocol. Nathan nodded his permission and the 12th broke up into their pre-assigned teams.

"I feel like shouting after them not to forget their sweaters," murmured Cullen as Lieutenant Reese and the rest disappeared into the trees. "And to be back before dark."

"Huh?" asked Hawkes, confused.

She dimpled up at him, and patted him on the cheek. "Don't worry, Sweetie, you'll always be my baby."

Hawkes blinked, but decided to let it go.

"In the meantime, someone explain to me why I feel like I'm on the set of a B movie that has 'Escape From' somewhere in it's title," commented Sarah.

"A what movie?" asked Hawkes.

"Look at that," continued Cullen, gesturing towards the building. "That thing looks like Salvador Dali's version of Fort Knox. A huge yellow monstrosity."

"Actually, Ma'am, that's a state-of the-art lead-based alloy lined with a special heat-sensitive coated glass," offered Hops. "It's sienna in the hot sun, reflecting and blending with the color of the ground. As it grows darker, so will the color of the facility."

"Whoever did design it did a good job," commented Hawkes. "You couldn't even see it from the air."

"The brass probably got tired of Chigs bombing our facilities and decided to make this one extra secure," stated Rain. "The only thing I don't like about it is the trees are too close. That's only about a dozen meters to the tree line. If the Chigs attacked on foot we wouldn't see them till it was too late."

"That's why Reese is sweeping the area, Sir," interjected Private Jameson. "Though you shouldn't worry. Our Intel says that the Chigs aren't aware we have a facility on this planet."

"If you ask me that thing seems way overdone for a warehouse," said Sarah "What are they storing in this place anyway?"

"Lieutenant West," interrupted Corporal Lancing. "We've got the communication center set up and are ready to contact the Saratoga to test the link."

"We'll be right there, Corporal," agreed West.

"Eight minutes," noted Rain. "Very efficient."

"Hormones," provided Cullen, grinning. "Gives them all that extra energy." She sighed, forlornly. "I feel so old."

The next half-hour was spent sending a landing report and organizing the rest of their base of operations. Everything seemed to be going smoothly and West had resigned himself to the idea of spending four peaceful, albeit boring, days uselessly patrolling an empty warehouse. Slightly insulting, but what the hell. A few more days of rest wouldn't hurt any of them.

"I wonder why they couldn't let us in the facility," mused Sarah, as she helped the 12th set up. "At least we'd be warm. Out of the wind."

"It's simpler this way, Lieutenant," answered Private Hops. "Less things to worry about."

The sudden crackling of the communication unit interrupted them.

"Base, this is Storm," came Sergeant Krieger's grim voice over the radio. "Rider, suggest all teams return to base. We've found something and it looks like trouble. Storm out."

 

* * *

"I thought I'd find you here."

Lieutenant Colonel TC McQueen looked away from the observation window with a small self-conscious smile. "I always seem to be doing this."

"No," Commodore Ross answered, also smiling. "Only when the 5-8 is out there."

McQueen sighed and turned his attention back to the window.

The Commodore placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's just four days. They'll be back before you know it."

McQueen didn't respond.

"First you shout at me, now the silent treatment," commented Ross wryly.

That got McQueen's attention. "Commodore, once again I apologize again for my behavior in the war room."

Ross nodded. "Next time you get the urge I suggest you remember that you have an entire squadron you can scream at." He moved closer, leaned back on the glass and made himself more comfortable. "I've been trying to catch you alone since you got here. What's the news from earth?"

"Sir, you've clearance to more information than I do."

Commodore Ross sighed impatiently. "You know what I mean."

McQueen was silent for a moment. "Hayden is pushing for peace. At _any_ cost."

A brief snort of disgust. "An euphemism for surrender."

"Yes."

"Is anyone listening?"

"Not yet, but she's gaining ground." McQueen turned troubled eyes to Ross. "Three weeks ago CNN covered students protesting outside the UN building in New York. They were broadcasting the Chig Ambassador's speech over loudspeakers. They're saying this war is our fault."

"I won't even ask how they got it," Ross growled. "Damn kids have seen too many alien movies. They seem to have forgotten that the only verified contacts were when they massacred our colonists."

"It's another world down there," agreed McQueen. "It's a war of words, not blood. And the media is winning." He sighed again. "Things never change, do they?"

"Never," agreed Ross. "So, will she help us?"

McQueen nodded somberly. "She knows she owes us. And she owes the 58th."

"Then that's all we need," answered Ross. "Between you and me we can make this thing disappear."

"It won't be that easy. She'll want something in return. "

"Of course. Never let it be said that Diane Hayden doesn't know how to play the game."

"They'll be sending investigators. Soon."

"This thing is a joke," growled Ross. "The only ones who want it are the bureaucrats who inherited this war. They don't have the slightest idea."

McQueen shrugged. "It makes them feel less helpless. In control. Action, even misdirected, is better than standing by doing nothing."

Commodore Ross snorted in disgust. "Dammit, we don't have time for this. But as you said, things never change. We have to have at least the appearance of giving tribute." He shook his head. "As if our jobs weren't hard enough." He looked at McQueen then. "How about you? How are you doing?"

"Functional. A little rusty in the joints."

Ross gave a sharp bark of laughter that belied his worry. "Aren't we all. Getting too old for this, hmmm?"

For the first time there was a glimmer of a smile in McQueen's eyes. "Speak for yourself, Sir."

 

* * *

  


"I've heard of déjà vu, but this is ridiculous." Nathan caught Reese's confused glance and sighed. "There's no chance these footprints belong to some Oodwae crew out for a picnic?"

"No, Sir," responded Sergeant Krieger. He pointed to the video images he had brought back. "If you study those images you'll see that those prints are too deep to be made by humans--unless they're nine feet tall. Plus, there's no variation to their gait. Even when marching humans don't have such precisely measured strides."

 **What are the odds**? Nathan thought wryly. Being sent down to do sentry duty on a facility and running into AIs. _Again_.

"How many?" he asked.

"At least six, probably more," responded Krieger. "And there could be more than one team."

"That isn't likely," Nathan responded. "Silicates stick together."

"We also found the same kind of tracks about two klicks east of here. And this ---." Lieutenant Reese handed West a cracked miniature circuit board. "Definitely from an AI. Possibly they've cannibalized one of their own to repair others."

They looked up as Corporal Macy's team came into the camp.

"Corporal," greeted Lieutenant Reese, disapprovingly. "You're late."

"We ran into some trouble, Sir."

"Silicates?"

"Afraid so, Sir."

"Visual verification?"

"We lost them about twelve klicks southwest of the camp, Sir. Eight, maybe ten."

"We figured around that," Reese nodded. "Those aren't too bad as odds go. Weapons?"

Corporal Macy nodded. "They were carrying M-590s and grenade launchers. One laser cannon that looked like it was ripped from a small tank. It didn't look functional, but I could be mistaken. There has to be a reason they're lugging it around. "

"They may have other weapons stashed somewhere," suggested Jameson.

Corporal Macy looked very grim. "Sir," she added. "There's more. They're being led by a Sam-Q model."

Rain whistled. "Good Lord."

"A Sam-Q?" asked Hawkes, confused.

"An AI designed for security detail and urban warfare," explained Sergeant Castillo. "Not as bad as a Joe-G, which is designed for actual warfare, but formidable enough."

"You've faced a Sam-Q model before?" asked West.

"No, Sir," Castillo answered dryly, "but I can read a spec sheet as well as anyone."

"But AIs communicate through wireless modems," Cullen said. "And what one AI knows every AI knows, so isn't one model as bad as another?"

"They can share information," supplied Castillo, "but each AI is still well, _ruled_ , shall we say, by its primary programming. So, though every AI can access universal technical data for warfare, a Sam-Q or a Joe-G was _made_ for warfare--it's what it is."

"So why are they here?" demanded Hawkes. "What're they after?"

"Oodwae," stated Sergeant Saliers simply. "They must've learned of the transfer and decided to take advantage of the lack of personnel."

"Dammit, not again," muttered West.

"You've been in this situation before?" Cullen questioned.

"Something like it," he answered, remembering the events of their Icarus detail.

"So you should know what to do," commented Rain.

"Not exactly." He turned to Corporal Lancing. "Corporal, any word on that link to the Saratoga?"

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant West. The satellite has moved out of range."

"Disabling communications is one of the first rules of engagement," stated Reese.

"We don't know they did that," said West.

"With respect, Sir, we have to assume they did," responded Reese, forcefully.

"We're tracking the satellite, Lieutenant West," added Lancing. "It changed orbit but it should be in within range again in about 18 hours. But with the _Saratoga_ on her way to the Chamdar region it's doubtful they can send help soon. We have to assume that we're on our own, for an indefinite period of time, with AIs breathing down our backs, and a facility to protect. Some help would be great--but we know better than to bet on it."

"This bunch seems a lot more organized than those we ran into at the Icarus mining facility," noted Hawkes, momentarily breaking the tension.

"They've got a Sam-Q," Krieger pointed out.

"Sir," said Lieutenant Reese. "Permission to form a search and destroy team to flush out the Silicates."

"We'll be spread too thin as it is, Lieutenant," West answered. "We'd rather have you here."

"We know they'll be coming after us anyway," pointed out Cullen.

"We can't just sit here and wait for them to pick us off one by one, Lieutenant," protested Reese. "And as it is now the AIs have all the advantages."

"That was a 'no,' Lieutenant," Nathan cut off Reese's additional protests. "Safeguarding the facility is the most important thing. We stay here till we can get backup." He expelled an angry breath. "Rain, get me the specs of Oodwae. We need a plan."

 

* * *

"I can't believe it," Cullen murmured to Rain, as she was checking her M-590. "AIs."

"Don't tell me," Rain teased, grinning. "You've never seen Silicates face to face before either."

"What can I say, I've lived a sheltered life," she admitted. "I do vaguely remember having them around the house when I was a child, though. Before the rebellion."

"Well, just don't let the novelty distract you," warned Rain.

Something hard entered into her eyes momentarily. "Don't worry, Rain. I'm not making that mistake again."

Jordan looked at her seriously. "You know I didn't mean it that way, Sarah," he said quietly. "I'm just saying Silicates can be fascinating in their own way. Like rattlesnakes."

She gave him a small smile. "Nice analogy."

"I'm serious." He hesitated slightly. "Silicates were made pretty on purpose. They're incredibly smart and they're programmed to predetermine a human's needs and preferences. They're not just machines. Plus there's conjecture that since the Silicates left the Earth they've actually evolved in some way that negates us pre-guessing _them_."

"Well, in a firefight pretty won't do them much good," she answered coolly. "And neither will the rest."

Ran smiled. They forgot, sometimes, that Cullen was just as much a warrior as the rest of them. Just because she'd never faced it before didn't mean she couldn't handle it.

No fear.

 

* * *

"This is Team Four. We've got movement at the west wall!"

"Damn, we've got movement here, too!"

Despite their best intentions, there hadn't been much time to plan a defensive. Or to do anything else.

The WildCards, plus the 12th's even dozen, made sixteen. Buddying up, Nathan formed four teams to guard all sides of the perimeter. As it was they barely had enough time to get into position before the Silicates had attacked.

Nyx was aptly named. There had been no colorful sunset, no lingering twilight. One moment they had been basking in the afternoon sun and in the next had been plunged into almost total darkness. That brought home with a vengeance a fact that they had all known but had failed to consider.

Nyx had no moon.

There was, in fact, no source of light except for the stars and the dim glow of the energy shield that protected Oodwae. Hurriedly, the marines lighted torches and bonfires to help illuminate the area. Light that more hindrance than help, adding strange shadows to an almost impenetrable darkness.

"Stand your ground!"

"No, goddammit! Take cover! For heaven's sake we can't even see these guys!"

"Incoming!"

They seemed to attack on all sides, at the same time. West knew that wasn't possible, but they couldn't seem to make out where the shots were coming from. Their night vision sensors proved just short of useless since the Silicates didn't give off much infrared readings.

"Jameson's been hit!"

"Hawkes! Where are you? We need backup!"

"Team three! Report!"

"Slasher here! Banker's down! I repeat, Banker's down! We need a medic!"

"Hang on, I'm on my way!"

"Stand your ground! Find cover if you can but keep returning fire!"

"Where the hell are they?"

"Incoming!"

 

* * *

"Tell me about Morgan Tyler," requested Colonel McQueen as he and Ross sat over coffee and pancakes in the mess hall.

Ross grimaced, and McQueen wasn't quite sure whether it was from the bitterness of the coffee or from the mention of the new captain's name.

"You have her file," Ross pointed out, and McQueen got the distinct impression that he was equivocating.

< "A list of missions, medals and commendations," he replied. "With a hole as big as my gestation tank. She's been here two months. Surely you can give me more than that."

Ross gave a slight shrug. "One of those commendations is from an ex-President of the United States. _While_ he was still in office."

"I noticed," McQueen answered, dryly. "And in the same week she was cited for an article 90. Slightly uncommon, wouldn't you say?"

Ross almost grinned. "For Tyler? Not much."

McQueen lifted an eyebrow. For some reason Ross seemed to be giving mixed signals about Tyler. In one second there was a touch of disapproval, and in the next inexplicable pride. To say nothing of the inappropriateness of those reactions. Ross seemed to disfavor of the commendation, while secretly cheering the article 90.

His misgivings about the new Captain intensified. Ross was the quintessential soldier, a stickler for regulations. He would not have stood for any disrespect, any breach of protocol. Good friend or not, he himself had felt the brunt of those convictions.

"It's true then?" he asked. "She did assault her CO?"

"Study the file," replied Ross. "That case was dropped before it even began. I think the exact words of the judge were 'It never happened' and the 114th were cleared of any misconduct."

"And yet their CO, the then-Captain MacLaughlin, was sent to Washington while the 114th stayed at Pensacola."

"Yes."

McQueen waited for Ross to elaborate or explain, but the Commodore seemed content with his one-word answer.

"Is she going to be trouble?" he asked, finally.

The grin Ross had been fighting finally broke through. "Of course. Why do you think they sent her to _you_?"

 

* * *

"God, what a night," stated Rain, a few minutes after dawn, when the Silicates had finally retreated. "How's Sergeant Castillo?"

"Hanging on," answered Sergeant Krieger, somberly. "Jameson and Hoag are doing better, though. Lieutenant Cullen just got through patching them up." He turned to Hawkes, who was trying to reach a cut on his back. "Let me help you with that, Sir."

Hawkes handed the bandage over reluctantly. "Thanks," he said. "Think they'll come back?" he asked Rain.

"They will. They haven't gotten what they want, and their window's rapidly closing." He turned back to Krieger. "You and your men should get some sleep, Sergeant."

"With all due respect, Sir, are you kidding? With Silicates around? We sleep and we're dead."

"Where's Nathan?" Hawkes asked.

"Lieutenant West is over there, Sir," pointed Krieger, with a small grimace. "Arguing with Lieutenant Reese."

"Oh-oh," murmured Rain, starting towards the two men.

"Wait," Hawkes halted Rain in mid-stride. "I'll go."

Rain looked doubtfully at the pair facing off. "Tell you what, let's _both_ go."

Nathan was obviously annoyed at the younger man. "We've been through this, Lieutenant Reese. We need you here. Besides, you're exhausted. We all are."

"And with luck the Silicates are taking this time to recharge, too," argued Reese. "Last night there was virtually no source of photo-energy. Their energy cells will be running low, too."

"We need to stay put while we wait to hear from the 'Toga."

Reese's face was set stubbornly. "You can wait all you want, Sir, but I'm taking a team out and hunting these things down."

West was about to loose his temper with the younger man and Hawkes moved in between them to forestall further argument.

"No, you'll stay here," Hawkes stated. "And get your wounds looked after." He looked pointedly at the graze on Reese's side. " _I'll_ take the team out." He looked over the 12th. "Who are your best field men?"

"Me," came Reese's ready answer.

"Someone who's not you and not wounded and can be spared," said Hawkes clearly. "Which means not Lancing or Liu or Hops or Krieger, either."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, we've all gone through JEST and SERE, you haven't and I--"

"I have," Hawkes cut in quietly.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"JEST, SERE, SSS--you name the initials, did them all."

"You did?" This was from Nathan, asked with some surprise.

"Yeah," answered Hawkes flatly. "Just not with the Corps."

"Oh." Reese looked like he was going to argue further, but seemed to change his mind upon further consideration. He nodded. "You'll want Macy's team, then, Sir."

Macy's team separated from the group and filed in beside Reese.

"Good," said Hawkes, turning to the tall brunette and the other three members of her team. "Get some breakfast and assemble your gear. We move out in 15 mikes."

"Fifteen mikes. Roger that, Sir."

"I need you here, Cooper," West protested.

"You've got Rain and Cullen and Reese and the rest of them. Strategizing isn't my strong point anyway. Now, hunting, " he said, looking over Macy's team with a wolfish grin. "That's my kind of job." He noted West's worried look. "Give us six hours, West. If we haven't found anything by then I'll bring them back here."

 

* * *

"Rain, look at this." With the blueprints laid out on a makeshift table, West pointed to two spots at opposite sides of the facility. "According to this there are only two actual points of entry to the facility. With the facility shut tight we have to patrol an area of more than two kilometers. If we break the outer seal we can concentrate on these two areas."

"Not to mention we can create some cover and turn on some lights," added Cullen. "That should even things a bit."

The 12th exchanged meaningful glances. "Lieutenant West, we have orders to keep the seal intact," interjected Lieutenant Reese.

"Under ordinary circumstances I'd agree, Lieutenant," answered West. "But we happen to be under attack. We can protect the facility better if we can concentrate our energies, and resources."

Lieutenant Reese shook his head, his face set in a grim mask. "That's not an option, Sir. We can't let them get that far."

"That doesn't make sense, Lieutenant," frowned West. "This way we can protect the facility more effectively. Now, unless you have a good, and I mean _good_ reason for this quibbling I suggest--"

Reese took a deep breath. "Sir, we have reason to believe that this is exactly what the AIs want. Breaking the outer seal gives them a better chance of actually getting _into_ the facility. That _can't_ happen. There'd be too many unknowns. They can override the computer system. They can hide in the ventilation tunnels. The Sam-Q model is expert in infiltration and urban assault, but unlike the Joe-G, the Sam-Q has no SERE, SSS or JEST programming. We _do_. Out here we have a better advantage. We can't--"

"Enough with the double-talk, Lieutenant," interrupted Rain, eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling us?"

Another meaningful look passed through the members of the 12th. There were faint nods from some of them, slight shakes of the heads from others.

"We don't have the clearance to tell you, Sir," said Lieutenant Reese. He expelled a frustrated breath, but stood his ground. "Don't break the seal, Sir. We can't risk what's in this facility."

"What the hell _is_ inside this facility?" demanded West.

Rain was studying the facility's blueprint and specifications thoughtfully. The energy shield, the multi-level structuring… the lead-lined reinforced walls. Something clicked and he grew cold at the implications. He pivoted sharply, turning to stare in shock at the façade. "Weapons," he supplied flatly. " _Nuclear_ weapons."

Nathan's eyes widened at Rain's words. "Oh _shit_."

 

* * *

"God, what a mess," declared West as he, Cullen and Rain stood a few feet away from the rest of the group to discuss their rapidly dwindling options. "I can't believe it."

Rain sighed internally. "It's not as convoluted as you may think," he answered. "In 2017, the UN passed the absolute ban on nuclear weapons. It would have taken too long, not to mention cost too much, to actually disarm them all. So, facilities like Oodwae were built to house them."

"Are you saying these weapons are active?" There was an underlying hint of panic in West's voice.

"No," answered Rain. "They have no guidance or detonation systems. But they do have their nuclear cores, which means they can be used if the right parties get hold of them. It was a long time ago," he continued. "The bleeding hearts decried detonating them in space or sending them into the sun, and the politicians couldn't even fathom actually destroying a hundred trillion dollars' worth of weapons. So…"

Cullen nodded in understanding. "Guess this seemed like the perfect compromise."

"One that didn't give them any problems for forty years," Rain pointed out. "Mainly because they kept the locations such a secret."

"For heaven's sake, why didn't Colonel McQueen tell us?"

"Lieutenant Reese explained that," said Rain. "The information was compartmentalized. Need to know. Of course the Corps isn't going to advertise that we're keeping nuclear weapons on this planet. We don't even have any proof that McQueen knew about it himself."

"I am going to kill whoever came up with the 'need to know' rule," swore West. Then he remembered something. "Then how come the 12th knew?"

"You keep doing that," noted Rain.

"Doing what?"

"Comparing people." Rain nodded towards the 12th, huddled around discussing the blueprints still laid on the table. "The 12th is a different team. They have a different CO, and for all we know they're under different orders. So they knew something we didn't--that's not a crime. Right now we have to work together--if we don't, we're dead. Those differences are something to be thankful for. What's important is we know it _now_ , before we made a very big mistake."

West didn't seem to hear anything. "Corporal Lancing! Any word on that link?"

"No, Sir! We've got two hours till the satellite is in range, Sir!"

"Dammit!" cursed West. "I need to talk to McQueen."

Rain expelled a frustrated breath. "Why?"

West looked at Rain like the other man was slow-witted. "Because he's our commanding officer," he answered sarcastically.

"And are you saying you don't already know what he's going to tell you?"

"What?"

"What Jordan is so diplomatically trying to say," Cullen cut in nastily. "Is will you just for one moment get over yourself and fucking _lead us_?"

"Excuse me?" West asked, incredulously.

"Sarah…" Rain frowned at Cullen but she charged right on. He glanced sideways at the 12th who were pretending not to hear them while actually trying very hard to listen.

"You see?" Cullen challenged. "Even the 12th knows you're not doing your job. Otherwise why would they even be discussing a defense plan? We've got Silicates to deal with and you can't even give us one clear directive."

"This isn't the time to do this, Sarah," said Rain. "We've got a crisis."

"You want to call McQueen?" Sarah continued. "Why? Is he going to come down here and rescue us? Hasn't happened yet, has it, West?"

"You are so over the line, Lieutenant," warned West.

Sarah was past listening to reason. "All through this war we've heard stories about how great the 58th was. There was even that goddamn AFN video," she answered angrily, her hands akimbo on her hips. "And you, all you've done is fight Tyler at every turn, defending some imagine space, saving it, waiting for Vansen to come back and claim it. Just like you've been waiting for McQueen to come back. Well, he's back. So what? Has it changed anything?"

"This is about Tyler, isn't it?" he growled. "You want her here instead of me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" exploded Cullen. "Don't you go blaming her for this! She's not here. I _know_ she's not here. McQueen's not here. Vansen's not here. _You_ are. You're honcho. Take some goddamn responsibility. And while you're at it, take command."

West couldn't believe how nasty Sarah was being. He looked around, not sure what to do next.

"Hawkes isn't here, either," Sarah sneered.

"That's enough, Lieutenant!" West almost shouted.

She set her jaw and angled her head stubbornly. "Make me," she challenged. She glared at him a moment longer. "Can't, can you?" With a disdainful sniff she spun away and stalked back to where the 12th were gathered.

"What the hell was that about?"

"You've asked me that before," answered Rain. "And I'll tell you again. Ask _her_."

"I've got half a mind to write her up," West muttered.

"Do it," Rain said quietly. "Just be sure you're doing it for the right reasons."

Nathan turned on Rain, mostly because he was the only one left. "I've had it up to here with your cryptic remarks and your vague references to whatever bug you have up your butt," he snarled. "If you're going to rag me about something, pray do it directly to my face in words I don't have to translate, transcribe or transpose into something remotely understandable."

For a moment Rain seemed almost amused, which only irritated Nathan more.

"Is it because Tyler made me honcho instead of you? I didn't ask for this, you know. And it's not my fault your precious Tyler is off gallivanting around somewhere on some mission and couldn't be here. I'm doing my best and I'd appreciate a little cooperation."

West stopped, fascinated, as the humor faded from Rain's face, to be replaced by a freezing anger.

"Get this through your head, Nathan," Jordan replied lowly, dangerously. "It's not about her. It's about _you_. Hell, yes, I want Tyler back, but that doesn't mean I won't follow you. Believe me, I've followed worse."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"In case it escaped your notice, we have a situation here. A very _serious_ situation. Dwelling on the little things won't help. Sarah isn't angry. And she sure as hell isn't working against you. She's just disappointed But that doesn't mean she's not capable of following orders if you would just give them."

"Lieutenant West?"

They turned to find Lieutenant Reese standing a few feet away, surrounded by the rest of the 12th.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but I think we have an idea…"

* * *

  


Six hours after they'd left, right on schedule, Hawkes and his team came back to the campsite.

"Any luck, Sir?" inquired Lieutenant Reese.

Hawkes appreciated the fact that the young lieutenant asked him instead of going straight to Macy. "Three of them," he answered, grinning in satisfaction.

"And we got the cannon," added Macy. "They dropped it when they started running."

Hawkes looked around at the camp. "So," he asked. "Wha'd I miss?"

 

* * *

"So, you've been through SERE and JEST, huh? And SSS?" Cullen and Hawkes had been working quietly together for some time when she voiced the question.

Hawkes shrugged. "I didn't know it at the time, but yeah."

"Any fun?"

He thought about that. "Some," he finally admitted.

"Hmmm," she answered, noncommittally. Then she surprised Hawkes with another question. "So, this still and silent thing, how do you do it?"

It was a new experience, being the one asked for advice instead of the other way around. Most of the time he felt like he was a step behind everyone else--always the one who had to have the situation explained to him.

How _did_ people give advice, anyway?

Hawkes frowned reflectively. He didn't know how he was supposed to explain it to Cullen. Being still and silent was the first lesson ingrained into him and his batchmates at the Philadelphia facility. They hadn't been allowed to talk at all, unless spoken directly to by the Monitors, and their movements controlled and precise, always with purpose.

Looking back at his life, still and silent pretty much covered it. Sitting still to listen to the Monitor's lecture. Sitting still to watch the training films. Sitting still to eat the food placed in front of them, without even knowing what it was. Even their combat exercises had been performed in silence, the Monitors being the ones to count off the kicks and punches and stabs. Even their guns had silencers. He remembered the first time he'd heard an actual gun shot--the noise had been deafening. And he never heard any of his batchmates shout or cry or scream, even when they were punished or beaten. Monitors were gods and assassination was a silent occupation.

He doubted Cullen would understand.

He tried anyway. "You just… listen, I guess. Feel. The air around you, the ground beneath. You get to know it good enough so you're the first to know if anything changes. When you learn how to listen you learn how to keep still."

"Hmmm," Cullen nodded thoughtfully. "I always thought it was the other way around. That you have to learn how to be still before you can listen."

Hawkes blinked, suddenly unsure. "Well… maybe it is."

Cullen smiled, reassuringly. "Don't worry about it, Cooper, you explained it very well." She sighed. "I'll try it that way, okay?"

Hawkes grinned. It was hard to imagine Cullen silent. "Okay."

"You know, I used to spend summers with my grandparents, in Louisiana. People think the swamp's quiet, but it's not. The frogs alone could drive you insane. Some nights you had to shout to be heard." She tried to keep her tone light but Cooper could hear the wistfulness in her voice. "And New Orleans--it was always so bright, so loud. One party after another. My Tante Coco--that's my Aunt Coco--said it was because of the legends. You know, vampires, werewolves, dark spirits waiting to pull you into the shadows. Tante said people were afraid of them and lights and the noise kept them away." Her smile was also melancholic. "Our house was like that, too. One party after another; fundraisers, the soirees, get-togethers. My dad and mom were always in the limelight. The house was always full of people--laughing, talking, even when they had absolutely nothing to say. I think they used light and noise to keep their fears away, too, but they weren't scared of monsters. They were scared that if they stopped they'd find out that that was all there was to their lives. Light and noise." She paused, as if she had just made a momentous discovery. "I think that's why I can't be still and silent long, too. I'm just as afraid as they are."

He stared at her in confusion. "Sarah, you've got nothing to be scared of."

"I used to think I was pretty brave. Me, braving three hundred years of tradition, not to mention Senator Edward Cullen's wrath, to join the Marines to become a fighter pilot. I had no idea."

"Sarah…" Hawkes was getting nervous. Cullen had always been pretty easygoing. He didn't know how to deal with her when she was in this kind of mood.

"You know what scares me?" she asked, again out of the blue. "I'm afraid that no matter what I do, however hard I try, it still won't work."

"What won't?"

"Us. This new 58th."

"Sarah--"

"I know it's childish, but every time you or West or McQueen look me, I know you want to see someone else."

"That's not true."

"And Tyler... I think it actually _hurts_ her that I'm here. I remind her of… of Demios, and the 'Wings. I think she just thinks she owes me. She makes such allowances for me."

"She doesn't," answered Hawkes, definitely. "She's as hard on you as she is on everyone else because she knows you can handle it. Otherwise, she'd have sent you away already." He was quiet for a while. "You want to know something?" he asked.

"What?"

"Before they…" He faltered, then tried again. " _Before_ , it was Shane who kept us together, who made the team work. I mean, McQueen was our CO and all, and but among us, it was Shane."

"I know," she said. "You miss her a lot, don't you?"

He smiled at the sympathy in her voice. It was just like her, to put aside her own crisis when she thought he was feeling bad. "Yeah," he answered softly, then shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "But what I meant to say was, it was her, but now it's you."

She wrinkled her brow, sure he was joking. "What?"

He looked at her seriously. "You take care of us. You force us to do things together," he stated. "You're the only reason I still think of the 'Cards as a squadron, not just a bunch of guys forced to stay in the same room and shoot at the same targets. I think you're the only reason we still even talk to each other. You keep us together." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm glad you're here," he said, simply, sincerely.

She was more touched than she could have put into words. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

 

* * *

"That's it, then," concluded Rain, hours later. "I think we're ready."

Reese grinned, surveying their work with satisfaction. "I think so, Sir."

"Still no luck with the link?" asked Hawkes.

"Afraid not, Sir," answered Lancing. "Though hopefully, since we missed our check-in at 1200 today they'll know to send help."

"The Silicates will be expecting that," pointed out Reese. "Which means they'll definitely attack tonight. Their window is rapidly closing."

Nathan nodded. "We've got about 5 hours of daylight left. Everyone should get some sleep while they can."

"No one's going to sleep, Sir," repeated Reese. "Not with Silicates around."

"They won't attack in daylight," pointed out Cullen. "They hunt by infrared, they loose their advantage."

"We don't know that," argued Lancing. "Remember the AI's code. 'Take a chance.' They're unpredictable. _We_ can't take the chance."

"That's a fallacy," replied Rain. "You can't use logic against illogical creatures."

"That's enough," said Nathan. "The mere words 'AI Rebel' should be an oxymoron, but it's not. The fact is we can't predict anything when it comes to Silicates. So we plan for every eventuality and just deal with whatever else they throw our way."

"Hope we're up to it," muttered Cullen.

"Ma'am," said Radhe. "We don't know about the 58th, but _we're_ 12th Force Recon. We can handle anything."

 

* * *

"It's a good plan, Nathan," Hawkes said. "You should follow your advice and get some rest while you can."

Nathan didn't answer.

"What's wrong?" asked Hawkes. He followed Nathan's gaze over to where the members of the 12th were sitting, having coffee. "Still having trouble with the 12th? They're good guys."

"I know…"

"So what is it?"

Nathan sighed. "We used to be like that," he said.

Hawkes' brow wrinkled in confusion. "Like what?"

Nathan's smile was wry, wistful. "Young. Focused."

Cooper's brow wrinkled further. "You still are," he pointed out.

Nathan shook his head. "We used to know what we were doing. We used to… be able to understand each other, communicate with just a look. Like they do." He looked up at Hawkes, his eyes full of sadness and resignation. "It was hard enough losing Paul, Shane and Vanessa as friends, as individuals. But we lost the team, too."

West wasn't paying attention to Hawkes' face or he would have seen the hurt and anger there. "I thought we had this conversation already," Hawkes said coldly.

"Cooper--"

"No," Hawkes interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest in an angry, defensive gesture. "After Gethen... you said you'd try. I thought you meant it."

"I did," protested Nathan, "but--"

"No," Cooper growled. " _We_ 're here. Sarah's killing herself trying to live up to your expectations, and Jordan's going insane trying to keep the peace."

"Me?" demanded West. "It's not me they're doing all this for, and it certainly isn't me who's been making all of our lives hell."

"Bullshit," snapped Hawkes. "Tyler hates _everybody_ so they know better than to take the dirt she dishes out personally." Except him, Hawkes contradicted himself mentally. The antagonism between himself and Tyler was definitely personal. "But they think you hate _them_. And they don't know why. And _that's_ what's wrong."

"Dammit, Cooper, I'm trying--"

"No. _We're_ trying. You're the one who's not." He sighed in frustration. "I can do this," he continued. "'Cause I have to. I don't got a choice. If I have to do it without Shane, without Paul, without Vanessa, I'll do it." He glared at West. "If I have to, I'll even do it without McQueen. Or without _you_."

"Cooper…"

"I don't have a choice," Cooper repeated. "You do. If you're not going to be _here_ anyway, then you should go. If you're not going to make it easier, don't make it harder."

With that, Cooper stalked away, leaving Nathan staring after him. He turned away himself muttering an expletive to find that Jordan had been watching their exchange quietly, thoughtfully.

"What?" West snarled.

"Nothing," answered Rain, flatly, with just the slightest hint of irony. " _Sir_."

 

* * *

The battle began, like the previous one, in darkness.

The AIs thought the Marines were going to be easy pickings. Visibility was near zero, even with the laser torches and the bonfires that the Marines had set. They did, indeed, hunt by infrared and the Carbonites' body heat made them glow, in the Silicates' eyes, like the torches themselves.

Sitting ducks.

At least until the first shot was fired.

Liu was the unlucky one, getting a direct hit in the chest.

"Goddammit!" shouted West. "Reese! Now!"

Suddenly, the light was blinding, and the Carbonites disappeared in a haze of heat.

West pushed his shades in place and watched in grim satisfaction as the advancing Silicates faltered, confused by the light.

Carefully working around the facility's security system, Lancing and Hops had rigged a line from their COM unit, feeding electricity into and through the energy shield. Since the field was a circuit of sorts, the added energy was magnified and multiplied with each revolution, until the glow compared to that of incandescent lamp. The result was one brightly blazing dome, brilliant enough to illuminate the surroundings, and hot enough to mask their body heat.

He made out Cullen and Saliers running out and dragging Liu to safety, and hoped against hope that the young private would be alright.

"Marks at ten o'clock!"

"Fire at will!"

The Silicates tried to retreat but Hawkes and Macy's team dropped out of the trees and surrounded them.

"Leaving so soon after all that work to crash this party?" Hawkes asked, silkily. "I don't think so."

It didn't take long to take care of the Silicates after that.

"So," commented Sergeant Krieger once it was all over, and Lancing had cut the power illuminating the dome. "Think anyone saw that?"

 

* * *

Their ordeal wasn't over.

Forty-five mikes later Chig attack jets could be seen in the distance.

"I think we just blew the 'secret base' thing," murmured Cullen.

"Stay low and don't move," warned West. "With any luck they'll fly right by us."

"I don't think there's much chance of that, Sir." replied Reese. "After all, they _are_ here."

"It took them forty-five mikes to get here," answered West. "They saw something, but hopefully, they don't know what." He took out his radio. "Rain, are you in position?"

"Roger that. I still hate doing this, though."

"I'll alert Greenpeace," West muttered. "Our guests are here. Time to light the birthday cake."

A few miles away, Rain, Kerrigan, Radhe and Saliers set fire to several strategically-placed stacks of dry wood and leaves that had been doused with alcohol. It wasn't the best flame accelerator, but it was all they had. Soon they had a small field of weeds engulfed in flames.

"I hope this works," murmured Saliers over their radio.

"Brush fires start for no apparent reason all the time," answered Rain. "And in this heat they won't think it too strange."

"Won't they wonder that there's not more area burned?"

"They won't see much in this darkness anyway. We just want them to think this is where the light came from," said Rain, unfolding and ripping open a small tent and fanning the flames.

"Is this how you spell 'Chiggy Go Home' in smoke signal?" grinned Kerrigan, fanning her own area with another piece of cloth.

"No," deadpanned Rain. "'Eat at Joe's'."

"Sir, I've got a visual on the Chigs," announced Saliers. "Bandits at eleven o'clock."

"That's it, then," said Rain. "Fall back to the tree line."

"Aye, Sir."

They fell back and regrouped, hidden by the tree line.

They waited with bated breath as half a dozen Chig planes flew into the sky above them, made a couple of circles above the area in question. They thought they'd blown it when two of the jets separated and flew lower.

They were surprised when a small hatch opened at the bottom of each jet and something spewed out, right over the flames. They watched, in fascinated wonder, as the Chigs kept spraying the unknown liquid until the flames died. The jets hovered a while longer, as if to make sure that the flames were totally out, before they joined the others and they all flew away.

 **Good God** , thought Rain. The Chigs had mercilessly massacred two colonies, had killed more than a million soldiers, had wreaked havoc and devastation wherever they went…

And they had just put out a brushfire.

He could see that the others were just as bemused as he was.

"Imagine that," Saliers said, slightly stupefied.

"I know." Kerrigan nodded in understanding. "Go figure."

* * *

  
Despite their victory of the night before, the WildCards and the 12th took nothing for granted. They stayed on alert and as soon as it was light enough, Hawkes and Macy's team went back into the forest to search for 'surviving' AIs.

Cullen and Krieger spent a quiet morning looking after the wounded. There wasn't much either of them could do for Castillo and Liu, except make them comfortable and hope that they had the strength to hang on till help arrived.

Which, thought Cullen, considering that they still hadn't managed to contact the _'Toga_ , didn't seem to be any time soon. But the relief crew of Oodwae would be arriving in two days. One of them should be a surgeon for the infirmary.

At least they had plenty of plasma for transfusion. Otherwise they wouldn't have had a chance.

It was at times like these that she regretted not going through with medical school. She'd have to think about that again, once the war was over.

"Lieutenant Cullen."

Sarah looked up to see West standing just outside the medic's tent, peeking into the darkness inside.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"A moment, if you please."

She nodded, stood up and slowly followed him out of the tent. She was worried about Nathan's formal tone, especially since she'd already been feeling guilty about her actions the past few days. She really shouldn't have let her disappointment translate into anger, and she definitely knew better than to actually let it show. That had been one of the first lessons she'd learned at her father's court. She was way out of practice, she supposed. Maybe in a way her time away had been bad for her.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" she asked, when they had stopped a few yards away from the tent, relatively out of earshot from everyone else.

"I think you have something to say to me," he prompted.

Well, thought Cullen, shrugging philosophically, she knew this was coming. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the taste of humble pie.

"Lieutenant, I apologize for my conduct these last few days, she said in a rush. "I was out of line and you have every reason to place me on restrictions or demand disciplinary action. I do hope it won't come to that, though. Despite my behavior these last few days, I do have the utmost respect for you both as a soldier and a commander and regret any words that may have --"

"That's not what I meant," Nathan interrupted. He thought it commendable that Cullen was ready to apologize but she seemed to be prepared to go on indefinitely, without pausing for breath.

She faltered, confused. "Ummm… Not sincere enough?"

She was relieved when he actually smiled. "I appreciate the apology, but--"

"Do you accept it?" she interrupted in turn.

He smiled again. "Okay."

She returned his smile. "So what _did_ you mean?"

Nathan turned serious once more. "Talk to me," he requested, softly. "Tell me what's wrong."

She remained quiet, not quite sure what he meant or what to say.

"Is it because you're worried about Tyler?"

"Some," she admitted. "But I know Morgan can take care of herself."

"Is it the investigation?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"So what is it? If I'm not a total failure as a soldier and leader, what's up?"

She gave another small smile. "You're improving by leaps and bounds," she assured him. "It's not you."

"What then?" he demanded.

She hesitated. Considering that she'd already made up her mind to suck it up and suffer in silence she didn't know whether telling West was a good idea. But then again, she didn't want West thinking that it was necessarily all his fault.

 _Oh, what the hell._

"It's… the Colonel."

"Colonel McQueen?" he asked. "What about him?"

"You three have not said ten words or even looked at each other directly since he got here. And he's said even less to me and Rain."

"And this… disappoints… you?"

She shrugged, wanting to be honest, but not wanting to sound pathetic. "See, I never had an actual squadron before."

"I know."

"Or an actual CO. And I'd heard so much about the 58th… And Colonel McQueen."

He nodded in understanding. "I guess we haven't been living up to our press releases, huh?" he asked, smiling wryly.

"You've all been great," she said, hurriedly. "Well… Semi-great, anyway. But…"

"What about Rain?" he asked. "Is he disappointed, too?"

She thought about that a moment before answering. "I think Rain is being more practical than I am and concentrating on what he _has_ found, not what he thinks may be lacking."

"And that is?"

She hesitated again. "I'm not sure I should be telling you."

He expelled a frustrated breath. "Sarah, if we're going to get anywhere we're going to have to be a lot more open with each other. I'm asking that you tell me."

"Well… Have you peeked at Rain's file?"

He frowned. "Not yet." He made a mental note to do just that when they returned to the _Saratoga_.

She looked pained. "He's going to kill me!" she wailed.

He gave her a hard look.

She grimaced. "Alright." She took a deep breath. "Well, do you know how long Rain's been in the Corps?"

West shook his head.

"Almost four years. And in that time he's been in seven squadrons."

"Wait," interrupted West. " _Seven_?" "Well, I'm not sure if that includes the 58th... Anyway, think about that, Nathan, seven. And he's told me that in all that time, in all those squadrons, he hasn't had one CO or one squad leader that even came close to Tyler. Not one commander who actually gave a damn about the future or would lay down their life for the team. He says they say the right words, but when it comes down to it, they're all just looking out for themselves." She stopped and gave a little laugh. "He thinks you're spoiled."

"Spoiled?"

She nodded. "We talked about the 58th once… Well, the 58th we'd heard about in those stories. And McQueen… Even Vansen. You know what he said? He said you should thank your lucky stars because for most people good leaders are just the stuff of legends." She shook her head sadly. "And he sounded so… I don't know… _fatalistic_ when he said it." She looked at West again, seriously. "I know you don't like Tyler, Nathan, but what you have to understand is Tyler is _Rain_ 's Vansen. Mine, too. But that doesn't mean we won't follow you. And we may be disappointed in McQueen, but that doesn't mean we don't want to be here."

Nathan was silent for a moment longer, trying to absorb Cullen's words.

"Seven squadrons?" he asked again, finally. "Why?"

"I don't know," answered Cullen softly. "He won't tell me. I just know they keep transferring him. Frankly, I don't understand that, either. He's a great soldier, an ace pilot. He never makes mistakes, and his instincts are incredible. Tyler actually _listens_ to him."

"Tyler," Nathan wondered out loud. "Does _she_ know why Rain keeps getting transferred?"

Cullen shrugged. "I don't know. I think she might know some of it, if not all, and doesn't give a damn either way." She shook her head in resignation. "Neither would I, but he doesn't believe that yet."

Nathan thought about that a little, and then nodded determinedly. "You should get back to the first-aid tent. They might need you."

"Alright."

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Colonel McQueen will come around," he said. "Give him time."

She looked wistful, slightly hopeful. "I'll try."

"And Sarah?"

"Yes, Nathan?"

"Thanks."

* * *

West was vastly relieved to be back on the 'Toga.

After that second night they'd had no more trouble with either Silicates or Chigs and after assisting the Oodwae crew move into the facility, the 58th happily filed into an APC for transport to the 'Toga. The 12th had been allowed to stay until Liu and Castillo recovered enough for transport back to Earth.

The loss of their friends had hit the 12th hard, and it reminded West that victories always came at a price. He was grateful that, at least this time, there hadn't been any actual loss of lives.

The 'Cards had been given another 'day off' once they arrived, but for once no one complained. Hawkes missed his plane, but the next rotation would come soon enough. After four days of virtually no sleep, riding their racks were the only assignments they could handle.

West was the only one who couldn't sleep.

He found himself outside McQueen's cabin.

"Who's at my hatch?"

"It's Nathan West, Sir."

There was a moment of silence. "Enter," McQueen finally answered. He waited till West was inside before turning to face him. "Lieutenant," he greeted neutrally. "What can I do for you?"

Nathan hedged for a moment, trying to find the words. "Sir, permission to ask the Colonel a question."

McQueen nodded. "Go ahead."

In the end he could only ask the question that was foremost in his mind. "What's going on, Sir?"

McQueen frowned. "Explain."

Nathan hesitated. "Sir… Why have you been so… distant?"

McQueen's frown turned into a glare. "Are we back to thinking I'm a drinking buddy, West? Someone to play poker with? Is that what you think I'm here for?"

West shook his head vehemently. "Sir, trust me, we know better than that. We know you're not our pal." He hesitated again. "You're _more_."

His plaintive tone caught McQueen's attention.

"If you're looking for approval," he growled, "I've already congratulated you on your work on Nyx."

"Sir, you know that's not it."

"So what is it?"

Nathan stifled a sigh. "Permission to sit down, Sir?" he asked.

McQueen gestured towards a small table, indicating that Nathan should take one chair while he took the other. "Well?"

Suddenly, Nathan felt shy, but he knew he had to do this. He had to call McQueen back to the 58th or die trying. "Sir... On Nyx. Cullen told me I was spoiled."

"Spoiled?"

"Yes. And she was right. I, _we_ were so lucky to have you. To believe in, to believe in us. You never gave up on us. Not in Eridanis, not on Demios. _Never_. You not only showed us what a soldier could accomplish, you shaped our very definition of the word. Sir… We need you. Tyler--"

He broke off. _What could he say about Tyler_?

"Jordan and Sarah," he said, instead. "They've never had you. Or Vansen. They don't know what I know. What a leader should be. _Is_. And they're so hungry they think crumbs are a feast. They need you, too."

He took a breath before continuing. McQueen hadn't said a word and West was worried that the man wasn't even listening. He decided to play his trump card. "Cooper is too scared to even talk to you, terrified he'll push you farther away. You and me, we're all he's got. _We need you_." Not even that seemed to reach McQueen.

"I can't," McQueen said, tonelessly.

"Sir," he protested, desperately. " _Please_. We can't do this without you. Maybe we haven't got a choice but to do this without Shane and Paul and Vanessa, but please don't make us do this without you."

McQueen finally met his eyes, and West could see sadness and resignation there. "You don't understand, West," he said hoarsely. "The graft… it didn't work. I'm useless to you now."

West was stunned. To him McQueen looked whole. Healthy.

He realized that was another thing he'd refused to think about. All he'd cared about was that McQueen was back, he didn't even think about the surgery, or the intense therapy that McQueen must've undergone to be able to return. He'd relegated the details to the fates, filing them under some obscure heading such as 'In Vitro Healing' and refused to analyze the consequences. Because he wanted McQueen back the way he'd been.

He realized then that nothing, _nothing_ , was ever again going to be the way it had been.

But again, he couldn't dwell on that loss right now. All he knew was he had reached McQueen and couldn't let up the pressure. He had to bring McQueen back. "Sir, you know that's not true."

McQueen shook his head, not hearing West's' words. "First they took my wings, then they took my legs," he said quietly. He glared again, refusing to give in to the overpowering sense of anger and helplessness. "Don't you understand? I _can't_ be with you. I'll never walk the battlefield again."

"So what, Sir?" West challenged. "Legs or no, you're still best damn soldier any of us know. Sir, we don't need your legs. We need _you_. Even if you can't be with us out there, we need to know we have you to come home to here."

McQueen shook his head slowly, killing Nathan's hopes. "Go back to your barracks, West."

"Sir…"

"Now, soldier," ordered McQueen. "Leave me alone."

Suddenly, West was the one who was angry. "With all due respect, Colonel, that's a load of bull. You came back here because you didn't _want_ to be alone. Because you know you belong _here_. _With us_. You're telling me you're brave enough to face the enemy, to face a court-martial, but you're not brave enough to be with us? Sir, that's crock and you know it."

He stood up and started to leave without waiting to be excused. Before he reached the hatch he turned back. "You know what Hawkes told me on Oodwae? He said that if he had to, he would do this alone, without any of us. He hasn't got a choice, the Corps is all he has. If you cared anything at all about him, you'd tell him that wasn't true. You'd tell him he doesn't have to." This time he was the one to glare at McQueen. "He'd do it for _you_. "

 

* * *

"I still don't get it," muttered Hawkes, throwing the cards he was holding down onto the table.

"Maybe you should stick to playing the lotto," murmured Rain dryly.

"Don't listen to him," interrupted Cullen, shooting Rain an annoyed glance. "If I could teach my eight-year-old cousin, I can teach you."

"You taught an eight-year-old how to cheat at cards?" West asked.

She dimpled up at him and winked. "It's only cheating if you get caught."

McQueen walked into the Tun and their table quieted. They watched silently as he walked them and went straight to the bar to order his usual scotch. Nathan expelled a disgruntled breath and prepared to stand up. Hawkes caught his sleeve in a firm grip and gave a short shake oh his head. "Leave him alone," he mouthed silently. Nathan was going to press the issue when McQueen stood up again, and came to their table.

"Mind if I join you?"

The voice was calm, quiet and neutral. The blue eyes were clear, no hint of softness, but there was no hint of anger either.

"Sir," said Nathan, quietly. "You're always welcome. You don't have to wait to be invited."

McQueen a small nod. His gaze fell on the cards that lay scattered on the table.

"Poker?" he asked.

The 'Cards exchanged semi-embarrassed looks.

"Ummm, sort of," answered Hawkes. "Sir," he added, almost as an after-thought.

"Ah, Sir, I'm just teaching Hawkes a few… err… tricks," added Cullen, tentatively, almost shyly. "The way he can't keep his face blank he needs all the help he can get."

He spared her a wry glance. "Not really one of the more… conventional… skills, but I suppose it could prove useful."

Sarah gave him a small grin. "I only use my powers for good," she replied, tongue-in-cheek.

McQueen's gaze remained aloof, but there was a hint of a returning smile, a tint of softness.

"Hawkes, I think we should put your newly-learned skills to a test," he stated matter-of-factly, pulling up a chair and sitting down. He nodded towards the pack of cards that still lay scattered on the table. "Deal me in."

No one moved.

Hawkes stared at McQueen, unsure of what to say, how to react. McQueen thought how right Cullen was, Hawkes never _could_ keep anything hidden. He was as open and as vulnerable as an oyster on a half-shell "What's the matter?" he asked, trying to inject humor into the awkward silence. "Afraid I'll wipe the table with you people?"

Finally, Rain slowly gathered up the cards, shuffled them a few times and arranged them into a neat, tight deck. Then he slid the deck over to McQueen.

"Sir," Jordan said quietly. "Maybe you should deal."

McQueen accepted the cards and shuffled them a few more times. "So," he asked. "Who's in?"

Nathan spoke for all of them. "We all are, Sir."

* * *

 

Epilogue

 

They were running out of time.

"Captain, it's been six hours and there's no sign of Captain Tyler."

"Dammit!' cursed Captain Garuda of the 88th FireBirds. "Wildfire!" she called to the leader of the 41st WildFuries who were working on another area. "Any luck on your end?"

WildFire shook her head. Telling her men to continue digging she ambled over to where Garuda was standing. "Garry," she said in a low voice, so that only the two of them could hear. "It's been six hours. She was about twenty meters in. Even if Raven survived that mine blast, the cave-in--"

"That's unacceptable," snapped Garuda. "We are not stopping until we find her." She arched her eyebrow at WildFire. "Unless you want to be the one to tell Sparhawk, not to mention Seune, that we freakin' lost Raven?"

WildFire blinked. Four years ago, the 92nd Ghost Guerillas had 'hosted' the 114th's Jungle Environment Survival Training in the mountains of South Cotabato and Captain SeuneAeryk--honcho of the 92nd--still remembered Tyler fondly. Had Seune known of this mission, she would have fought like a tiger to get this assignment, if only for the opportunity to work with Raven again. Unfortunately the 92nd GGuerillas had been on extended assignment with the 83rd FuryAngels in the Rigil Kentaurus region.

WildFire's brow furrowed. Garuda would probably survive the massive dressing down from Sparhawk, leader of the 88th, and she herself could more than handle her own CO. Seune, on the other hand, would _never_ let either of them live this down.

That meant buying her more Lethal Lethes than WildFire cared to think about.

"Didn't think so," Garry murmured dryly as WildFire pivoted sharply and stalked back to her men.

"WildFuries!" barked WildFire. "We're running out of time, people. Dig faster!"

"Major," interjected one of her soldiers. "There must be something else we can do."

WildFire nodded grimly as she surveyed the rubble that used to be the entrance of an underground passage. "Pray."

 

 

 

Sunday/ January 02, 2000/8:44 AM Copyright 2000 JCSA

 

  



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